


Snow Angel

by GamblingTigerSniper



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate History, Alternate Universe, M/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Omega Verse, Omegaverse, Other, Sexual Slavery, Slave Trade, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 23:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13445580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GamblingTigerSniper/pseuds/GamblingTigerSniper
Summary: It's 1729. A child-Tsar has taken the throne, leaving Russia in the midst of a power-struggle spanning half a decade, so far. In the political turmoil between Russia and its neighbors, several large underground smuggling rings have erupted. Almost any goods can be bought and sold, if you know the right person to ask. But most desired among them are people themselves, namely Omegas. Relations between secondary genders are tense, and while Omegas are mostly free throughout the larger cities in Russia, the neighboring countries still clamor for slave-labor, and so traders do what is necessary to meet the ever-growing demand.Yuri Plisetsky is a young, free Omega living with his Beta grandfather in a modest but happy home. That is, until he goes to the grocery market unaccompanied one day, and finds himself thrust headlong into the grimy underbelly of everything he has struggled to ignore for his entire life.





	Snow Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is a 'prequel' of sorts to the story at large. Also my apologies to anyone who actually speaks Kazakh or Russian. Admittedly, I do not, so I used Google Translate for a few bits of dialogue. If you do happen to speak either of those languages, please feel free to let me know what better translations might be! Thanks for reading!

Lemon and mint swirled into one another, rising and narrowing to a golden point, uplifting a sacred cross towards the heavens. Complimented by another spire of proud red and white, yet another with luminous blue, and more still. Each different, each beautiful, each glorifying heaven, always watching over the beloved mother Russia and her chosen Tsar. The cathedral of Saint Basil stood proudly, outlined by the blue-grey winter sky, never more beautiful than on a snowy morning. 

Yuri pondered upon that picturesque thought, as it dawned upon him that he would never see Saint Basil’s again. He would never see his grandfather, his home. He would never sleep in his warm bed, or curl up with Potya near the fireplace. 

The year was 1729, and Peter the Second reigned over Russia, the young Tsar not even as old as Yuri himself. But an Alpha, and thus a stronger contender for the Tsar-dom than any who would oppose him. Yuri’s grandfather would say too often that the boy Tsar was unfit, manipulated into movement by his advisers, but only in the hushed confines of their small home. Yuri had once remarked in jest that he, himself, would make a finer Tsar. His grandfather chuckled for a long time, and eventually patted him on the head, telling him that Omegas weren’t allowed to be Tsars. His grandfather had told him a great many things that Omegas weren’t allowed to do, or shouldn’t do, because they were too dangerous. 

Yuri wished a great many things, but more than anything, he wished he had just listened, and not gone to the market stalls today. But his grandfather was ill, and they needed food. Yuri was young and though thin, he could manage a day without eating. But a frail old man? No, he had to eat. And so, Yuri ventured off on his own, and now?

Now he was bound, gagged, and blindfolded, stowed away in the back of what he could only presume was a caravan. Each bump in the treacherous road carried him further and further from home. How worried his grandfather would be. How distraught, when Yuri didn’t arrive home that evening? How would he carry on? What if the grief destroyed him? Yuri felt the heat of rage boiling within him, and began to struggle in his binds.

Evidently, someone had noticed him moving. The blow was unseen when it came. He felt a harsh thud on his head, and then all was blackness. With his last conscious thought, he swore revenge.

~~~~~

The glaring sun roused him from slumber, though the young Russian captive was not aware how much later that was. At least a day, to be sunlight again. Longer? Hunger was such a familiar friend that he could not tell by the emptiness of his stomach.

His blindfold had jostled in the time that passed, allowing him to see just a sliver through one sterling blue eye, his left. A small rip in the fabric of the caravan’s covering had allowed in the sun, and he could see a sky that was not his own. Not the blue-grey of snowy Russia. Not a flake of snow to be seen. Just blue and bright, and noticeably warmer. His coat had been removed, and his clothes too. Now the ropes cut into bare skin, and even a small movement proved how tightly they had been re-fastened. His wrists were raw and red, a harsh standout against skin white as the snowy country he hailed from. 

Yuri tried to turn his head and see anything in the caravan with him. All he could catch were glimpses. A chin, hair, a hand. Someone else was there. Many others. Tightly bound and crammed into this small caravan. None moving. Some whimpering, now that he listened for sounds other than the loud rumbling of the wheels beneath them and the foreign language spoken by the drivers. But he was not close enough to touch. 

He watched through the sliver of sight as daylight brightened and faded twice. Sleep did not come easily, if at all, though he couldn’t be certain. His world had become something of a waking nightmare. His throat was parched for water, his stomach ravenous and furious. He had no sense of where he might be, or how long had passed. Perhaps he was already dead, and this was Purgatory? 

When the caravan finally stopped, Yuri had been halfway between wakefulness and dreaming, stuck amid the two and unable to fall fully into either. The covering of the caravan was stripped away, and a large, brutish-looking man stood at the foot of it. He grabbed the nearest figure, yanked him from the spot he had laid in, and cut the binds on his feet. He set the boy, no older than Yuri, on his wobbling legs, and barked sharply at him. 

“Онда тоқтаңыз!”

The boy seemed not to understand, nor did Yuri, but he stood in place, trembling. This repeated one by one, until a small huddle was standing beside the brute. Another man appeared then, with a long rope, tying the hand binds together to form a line. The caravan had stopped in a dark alleyway, with a dirt floor and black brick-like arch overhead. The second man yanked on the newly fastened line, nearly causing the frightened boys to topple over.

“Онымен бірге барыңыз! Енді, құлдар!”

The first man snarled, and the second yanked the rope again and began to walk. This time the tied assembly followed him blindly into the dark, lest the rope fastened to their hand bindings drag them along the ground. This was repeated twice more with two additional groups of young boys, all of whom appeared to Yuri to be also Omegas. They were lead away into the darkness, some whimpering and crying, some silent, one altogether immobile. He had collapsed on the floor when taken out of the caravan, and when he couldn’t be stood up with a few kicks, he was left there.

At last, it was Yuri’s turn to be taken from the back of the caravan. He struggled against the stranger’s grasp, wriggling and flailing for freedom. So much so that the slice intended to cut the binds on his ankles sank into his flesh instead, leaving him with a deep, painful gouge. The pain was the jolt he needed to return fully to the waking world. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he started to run. He had no idea the direction of the second man, no clue where to run to, and only half of an eye for guidance. But he ran. 

“Ержан! Ол қашып кетті!”

Yuri heard the shout from the first man, who didn’t seem to be giving chase. He fled into the darkness, casting a glance behind him to be certain, only to crash into a solid wall of muscle. The second man stood before him, and before Yuri could run the other direction, his arm was captured in a crushingly strong grasp. He tried to cry out in anguish, but the gag in his mouth muffled the noise. A crack! resounded through the archway as a slap crossed his cheek, and in the next moment Yuri was struggling for breath as he was lifted up by his throat.

“Сіз әдемі болуы үшін бақытты. Сатып алушы сізге көп төлейді. Бұл сіздің жалғыз құтқарылуыңыз.”

The young Omega’s feet kicked out, body desperately writhing for air, for freedom, for life. He did not understand the words, but nodded at them, hopeful that if nothing else he would be able to draw one more breath.

“Ален! Мен оны ішке апарамын. Бір сәтте ораламын!”

A second later, Yuri was tossed over the second man’s shoulder with ease, carried down the dark archway. At the end was a small, narrow door. The man pushed it open to reveal the others, standing in their lines, already being un-blindfolded and sprayed down with water and soap. Off to the side was a line of cages, where the rowdier of the bunch were locked away. Yuri was thrown in one such cage, not even large enough to stand within, nor long enough to stretch out his body. He immediately tried to throw his small weight at the bars, only to result in a rod slamming into the cage door and a harsh scold.

“Ауызыңды жап! Сіз өзіңізді нашарлатасыз, ақымақсыз!”

Yuri panted for breath, his ankle beginning to ache from the gouge and the grime which had gotten into it during his attempted escape. His wrists were beyond sore, his hands on the verge of becoming numb. His thirst and hunger only amplified every other pain, making it sharper as moments passed. He watched the others being led in, being untied and washed, albeit with no sense of tenderness and caring. It was merely procedural, and done by those who looked to be Omegas themselves, gaunt and with hollow, hopeless eyes. 

“На этот раз так много…”

The second brute had left the room, and one washer spoke to the other, causing Yuri’s ears to perk up and his eyes to widen. That language! He knew it. That was Russian! Perhaps he was still close to his homeland after all? Perhaps he could relay that this was some sort of a mistake? He cried out, trying to speak around his gag to no avail.

“Ой? Ты меня понимаешь, маленький? Итак, вы русский. Да, Ты очень далеко от дома, маленькая кукла. Будьте послушны, и, может быть, вам повезет, что вас продадут кому-то, кто живет далеко от этого места.”

Tears began to gather in the corner of Yuri’s eyes, and he coiled his body as tightly as he could inside the confines of the cage. He wished he could be home, could smell his grandfather’s cooking, and could pet Potya. But now, the undeniable truth made itself painfully clear, from the familiar tongue of a foreign stranger. He was to be sold on the Omega Slave Markets, and there was nothing he could do about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Wonder what's going to happen to Yuri? Will he escape? Will he be bought into slavery? If so, where will his lot take him? Find out in the next Chapter!


End file.
